Wasteland
by Brandidy
Summary: In a small town in Alabama, Logan and Marie struggle as neighbors with a peculiar bond and unnamed affection. What will come of them when they're thrown head first into a wasteland and forced to survive on their own? Apocalyptic AU wolverine/rogue
1. Chapter 1-Small Town

**So, I've actually been writing this story for about two years now as an original piece. However, I kind of got back into Marie/Logan recently and I decided this story could work really well for them both. So, I'm going to shorten it from the original idea to be better suited for a fanfic (it'll still be pretty long). Let me know what you guys think!**

 **Marie**

I dream of the explosions. The bombs and the smoke. The things that no one expected to come, and that no one expected to survive. It kills me to not remember all of it. Knowing that something could flip my life around so quickly and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it is bad enough, but to not remember everything is simply the worst.

Yet, there are some things I have acquired from other mouths and I have been able to piece together with my own unclear memories. Of them all, I remember the noises of the bombs the most, although I try to forget the shrieks that followed.

The blasts were spread out at first. Quick and simple. But, then it appeared as if the heat got turned up, and soon enough there wasn't a second gone by where you couldn't hear a bomb detonate. They tore through the air like bullets, leaving everyone hiding beneath the closest thing they could find. Friends clung to each other and covered their heads, and the ones who didn't have any people to rely on just sort of dove down and hoped for the best. Then, there was the thing that followed, the savage mu- Wait.

I guess for this to be a good story I should tell you the beginning. How all of my nightmares started that one night in Alabama.

 **WASTELAND**

 **Chapter 1- Small Town**

"For goodness sake, Clarence. How much did you put in there?" Professor Realy inquired with clear irritation as she peeked up from behind her desk, eyes wide with the likeness of an owl.

The boy in question peered back at her through the thick cloud of smoke, his knee digging into the small brunette's side to his left. Despite her loud yelping at the sensation, he continued as if intending to carve out Marie's intestines like a Turkey on Thanksgiving. With a firm hand on the desk, feigning courage that was lost on everyone in the hazy room- this was the same guy that had hid under a picnic table for fifty minutes when a squirrel tried to eat his fallen peanuts in the quads- Clarence pulled himself to his feet and cautiously examined the area around him. Marie wearily stood up soon after, coming to the conclusion that if he hadn't exploded into a glorified array of blood and flesh, the beaker on the desk in front of them was done with its previous fireworks show. The thought that he could make great money near New Years was gone just as quickly as it came.

"Two containers full," he said simply, as if he had done nothing wrong. Yet the students erupted into fits of sighs and groans. Something that the boy was definitely not unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of.

Professor Realy smacked her hand to her blemish-free forehead, coming to her feet. Her once perfect ponytail now disheveled and hanging hard to the left. "It said two _cups_ , Clarence." The instructor enunciated, making her frustration evident. "Cups, as in the _measurement_. Not cups as in the _actual_ _cup_." She shook her head, then looked up at the clock as her delicate fingers ran over her pristine white lab coat in an unavailing attempt at straightening the rumpled fabric. "Well, you only have about a minute left anyway. Clarence, you stay here and help clean this up."

"But I have practice-" The red head began to protest, but the exasperated professor silenced him with a single look, sucking the breath right out of his lungs as he backtracked on his previous statement. "-which can wait," he finished, his head hanging almost to his knees as he walked to the back of the class to grab the broom.

"Indeed, it can." She stepped forward and began inspecting the charred ceiling with a scrunched nose, when something loud and booming sank through the walls of the classroom.

Students looked up, the shift in mood tangible as faces expressed the switch from laughable anxiety to full blown panic. In seconds, the windows were blocked by broad eyes and pink open mouths, soft flesh pressed against the cold glass in an attempt at catching a glimpse of whatever made the reverberating blare. "It's just an airplane," the now irrelevant instructor exclaimed more than said, trying to defuse the situation.

Marie's mind began to race as she considered what this could mean. She had never felt such a deep vibration before, not even in high school when the seniors over took the intercom system to play bass heavy hip hop at full blast in the middle of 6th period.

The room lit up with the light of people's phone screens, some trying to take pictures of the plane that was already long gone and others attempting to see if anyone else knew what caused this unusual disturbance.

"Phone's up!" Professor Realy shrieked, her voice breaking in the middle of her last word. It was to no avail, everyone simply too apprehensive to listen. "Now!" she cried, trying to gain control of the situation. Her hands shook, face bright red. She was a tea kettle ready to blow.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and just like that, she was back to her prim and proper self, her face void of all frustration she had felt less than five seconds before. Perhaps she would have had a better chance as an actress than a college Chem professor.

"Don't forget about your exam Monday. Have a good weekend, and Elliot," she pointed at the boy who was beginning to walk through the door to leave. "Actually study this time."

The boy nodded, then rushed out, hitting Marie's shoulder. Worn out books with scratched out writings on the covers fell to the ground, spiraling out around her in a circle. And in less than a second, she had been converted into the nerd trope in a 90's teen movie.

"Hey, asshole!" Marie hollared, but he was already gone, disappearing into the abyss of hyped college students trying to flood the front doors like a crack in a dam. She had no doubt that the only thing she'd hear about for the rest of the day was that noise.

Knowing her small town, the rumors that were bound to spring up around it were endless. From aliens to nuclear warfare, this town had no shortage of imagination.

…

 _ **Logan**_

A loud slap on the counter beside him drew Logan from his internal musings. Looking off to the right, he noticed the not entirely uncommon sight of his colleague Joseph taking off his stained black apron, tossing it onto the counter with little regard, and stepping from behind the bar.

Before his feet were able to spread more than shoulder length apart, Logan had leaned across the counter and caught his attention. "Your shift ending?" Logan asked, suspicion and a hint of amusement soaking his voice like the dishes Joseph left in the sink in the back.

Joseph grinned back at him, crooked piss yellow teeth doing better than any commercial to scare kids from sticking a cigarette to their lips. "Not yet. Just taking a quick break."

Letting his own rag glide smoothly over the counter, doubling back to remove some fallen residue from the night before, Logan sighed. "I've told you once, I'll tell you again. I'm not picking up your slack. And besides," Logan's hand started to drift then, like a lion on the prowl. Both pair of eyes watched the wayward hand with interest before it finally pounced, knocking a glass off of the counter and landing with an almost splash of shards in front of Joseph's feet. "Someone needs to clean that up."

The man threw his head back up, a vicious glint in his eyes. "What the hell, Logan?" he screeched.

Logan turned, organizing some glasses with an echoing _clink._ "Either you get your ass in gear or we find a new bartender. Plenty of college kids around that'd be more than happy for the cash."

"God damn it," Joseph grumbles, slipping back behind the bar and tying on the black apron, sharp thin fingers seizing the broom with vigor. "It's not like we're busy. Why do you have to be such a pain in my ass?"

That only drawls a chuckle from the taller man beside him. "Take it as me doing you a favor," Logan gestures to the small pack now hanging loosely out of Josephs front pocket on his shirt, forgotten. "That shit'll kill you."

Joseph's pinched up face becomes even more drawn in, his lower lip nearly engulfing the chapped upper one in his attempt at a smile. With the thin hair on his head slicked back against his waxy transparent skin, he looked at least twenty years older. "Well," he chirps as he scoops up the rest of the glass, still holding it in his right hand when he turns around and shrugs a shoulder. "That's what I'm hopin' for."

After a moment of silence that has Logan wondering about the man's mental health as much as physical, they both have a boisterous laugh; Logan clapped the man hard on the back, not completely oblivious to the groan that leaks out before rotating on his heels to finish up.

"Kill yourself on your own time, son," a scratchy voice calls out from the front of the bar. Logan recognizes it immediately but doesn't pay the man much attention, instead continuing to run a different rag through the hollow insides of the freshly cleaned glass cups. "Logan," the voice calls out again, the attitude behind it different now.

He didn't need to hear another word to know that the news wouldn't be pleasant. Logan had been exposed to that tone of voice from his boss before, and he'd be god damned if it didn't mean trouble. Once he peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his boss, his assumption turned factual. It was so clear; In the way his mouth was pursed slightly, lines of his forehead drawn together in an "M". In the clench of his fist around what Logan was sure was the baseball cards he brought his son after every one of his t-ball games. Logan hoped the kid won tonight, his dad was starting to get less and less enthusiastic every game. Hell, it was even in the way his hair was styled, or not styled. If you ever needed to know exactly how the man was feeling, look at his hair. "I need you to come in tonight at eight."

Damn.

It wasn't that Logan could complain. He made decent money from this job, mainly the tips kept him happy and the hours were usually pretty flexible; and God help his wallet at the end of the night if it was a Friday cage match. But, lately it's been hard to find loyal employees that wouldn't skip out as soon as there was a sign of trouble- which was becoming increasingly more common in good ol' Lamarck's. They'd had six true bar fights that weren't in the cage in the last two weeks, and Logan hadn't been there every time to stop the bastards before there was significant damage.

When the going got tough, the employees got going. It was becoming more and more clear that no one was willing to put themselves on the line for a job that barely paid above minimum wage, and the part of him that wasn't pissed that he would be working more hours that night understood. Of course, the other part was grumbling about 'lazy bastards', upset that he'd made a promise to Carl that he'd stick around because the man had helped him out in a tough time. But Logan was nothing if not a man of his word, so he bit through the hindrance and smiled.

"Eight? I'll be here by seven." Logan's smile turned to a grin at the way Carl's eyebrows narrowed, before checking the watch on his wrist and seeing that his shift had ended over twenty minutes ago. Grabbing his keys, he lay his own apron out on one of the shelves in the back room. When he made it back into the main area, Carl tried to muster a stern look that wasn't any tougher than a pup. Logan couldn't keep himself from patting him on the back and failing to fight back his laughter.

"I'm serious. Take a break from the ladies or whatever it is you do in your spare time, and make sure you get here on time tonight." Carl whirled back around, glancing at the empty sitting area, a critiquing look in his gaze. It was just past three, this was nowhere near a busy hour. Still, they did have regulars and not a damn one of them had shown up. "I don't pay you to forget to set your alarm."

Chuckling, Logan waved off Carl's uncertainties. "Quit your bitchin' pops, you know I'll be here on time. See ya' tomorrow, Carl." Swiping one finger over a table while walking out, Logan smiled up into the bright sunlight. The sky was blue and there wasn't a cloud in sight. The grass still damp from the past week of non stop rain, bright green in the much needed sunlight. His hands fell to his hips, looking up just in time for a jet to soar through the sky above.

The noise roared, and his head rotated rapidly as the building began to shake and shudder, giving the slight impression that it may fall. The thought quickly left his mind as Logan recalled how it survived Hurricane Frederic in '79 and everything that had been thrown at it since.

A box of empty bottles fell to the concrete behind him, making him jump a little and spin around.

"God damn. What on Earth was that?" Joseph asked, walking out of the tin building to stand beside Logan, who only sighed. Joseph smelled of sweat and stale beer, partially ruining the calm feeling that the world had slowly began giving off again.

"An F-22 maybe?" Logan finally responded, bringing his tanned hand to his forehead to block out some of the penetrating sun as his eyes searched for the plane. Yet, there was nothing but the clear blue out there. No sign that the plane ever made an appearance.

"That's a fighter jet, yeah? The fuck is it doing here?" The short man asked, his eyes flickering all over the sky before they came to look at his colleague.

Logan reverted his gaze to look at him too, taking in the splash of soap mixed with old food that goes from the underside of an armpit to just below a rib, deciding not to tell him about it before shrugging. "Maybe they're just testin' the thing," he offered helplessly before turning around and raising up the fallen box. "Clean this glass up, would ya'? I gotta get home and mow before it gets dark out."

"Sure thing, Logan," Joseph responded, already kneeling down when Logan lifted his hand slightly, flicking his wrist to him before changing directions and leaving for the day. Thick brown boots kick up some dirt on the concrete and while looking down, he noticed something funny. The flowers that usually line the road were brown, sitting crumpled on the ground.

 _Flowers die,_ Logan rationalized. But, all of them? In twenty-four hours?

 _Since when do you give two shits about flowers?_ Since... Well, he doesn't. _There's more important things than flowers_ , His mind reminded him, followed by an eye roll because he had to tell himself something like that. _Or that I have to tell myself anything at all. Can't be healthy._

Logan averted his gaze to focus on _more important things_ , like where the hell his truck was.

Spotting it in the parking lot, he gave a verbal sigh of relief until he realized he had parked it farther away than usual. "Shit, Logan. What were you thinkin'," wishing he had decided to fix his truck's air conditioner. _It's not like I don't got time for the damn thing, it's just that I keep forgetting._

He didn't remember parking so far away, though. Logan always tried to get on the first row, and by try, that means he _is_ always on the first row. Since he's one of the first one's here, why would he park on the last? _You're being paranoid._

"Howlett!"

His body nearly shot to the clouds as it reacted to gut instinct, swinging around with a carefully trained elbow, hurling Joseph down in the process. He stumbled back, completely losing his footing until Logan quickly grasped his upper arm, catching him only inches before his head gruesomely met the curb.

There Joseph sat, the back of his head hovering above the scorching concrete that was warming his head even from the distance between, as Logan stared blankly down at him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-" he began as his mind registered the terror in the eyes beneath him.

"You could have killed me, man!" Joseph shouts, shoving him hard in the chest. Logan doesn't respond, or even fully look at him. _I did almost crack his head open_. "Whatever. I was just coming out here to bring you your keys," he said, pulling them out of his pocket.

That caught his attention. Sure enough, when Logan reached into his back pocket, the keys are gone. "Did you take 'em from me?"

Joseph tilted his head to the left making the taller man feel like a moron, still holding his keys in his left hand, dangling them like he was trying to calm a child. "No-o? You left them on the back shelf."

"No, I grabbed them. I'm sure of it," he corrected him, unaware of the rumbling growing in his chest.

The other man just laughed, tossing the keys at Logan's dark button up shirt. "You're losing your mind, old man." Then he left Logan's mouth open, keys hanging off his fingertips. Maybe he was right, maybe Logan was just losing his mind.

When he'd finally prepared to turn around and get in the truck to go home, he found it less than ten feet ahead of him, parked on the front row. Somehow the air seemed thicker, making it harder to breathe while a cold breeze blew up his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. "Alright, who is it? Joseph?" Logan shouted to the air, hand held out in front of him with his calloused palm facing the open sky. "Neat trick. Now, can we stop this bullshit?" But there was no reply. "If I catch one of you, I'm gonna kick your ass for touching my truck." He continued walking to the vehicle while realizing the flaw in his logic. He hadn't heard it being moved.

Groaning, Logan opened the thick metal door of his dark blue pickup. The seats were hot enough to fry on, and the compressed air inside was enough to make a man feel like a rotisserie chicken, but he started her up anyway and got on the road, when another, less loud, jet flew above. This can't be right. This was a small town in Alabama, nowhere near a military base.

To the right, there were three women on the side of the road talking rather loudly and gesturing to the sky, not one under the age of sixty.

"Excuse me, young ladies," Logan said as he pulled over, wiping some of the sweat from his brow. "You wouldn't happen to know what the story behind these planes are, would you?"

They all turn, some getting a bit flustered. "Sorry, sweetheart. You're just as clueless as we are," one replied, running her hand through her aging hair.

"Maybe it's a sign of the end," another, who looks much older, mentioned in a hushed tone. Logan laughed, nodding.

"Maybe you're right," he responded, looking up.

Another one wearing a sundress hushed him quickly with her hand. "Don't go feeding her fantasies, son," she seemed to have said more to herself than to him. This started an argument among them, each one bickering about their own reasoning for what they believe in- Routine launch, getting ready for a war, another country's jet. Another glance at the sky reminds him of his tall grass, and he knows that he needs to get home.

"Well, thanks anyway, ma'am. You all have a nice day." After a quick wave, his arm rested on the outside of the truck window, pulling back into his lane.

Another jet flew above as the tires finally scratch the loose rocks on his driveway, and when he looked out of the open window quickly, the fading sound registers some buried memory. _That's definitely a fighter jet. But, what the hell is it doing in Alabama?_ His boots hit the ground, the door slamming shut beside him, sounding like it was miles away. He knew his mood was beginning to darken. Wasn't even aware of the bright sun shining, dark clouds shadowing his awareness.

"Hello, Logan!" A chipper female voice called from beside him. He blinked and turned, seeing his neighbor, a blonde woman in her late forties. And where there was Annette, there was- ah, there it is. That god damn look in her eyes. Made him feel ten years younger and ten times more weary.

"Afternoon," Logan responded, waving as he walked over to where she was perched on the porch swing. Her knees tucked beneath her like a teenager with gossip on the peak of her tongue. "How are you?"

Annette's smile grew almost cartoonishly with each step he took towards her. "Never better," she stated with her hands under her chin. "Are you going to be mowing today?" He was tempted to ask how she knew, when she continued. "It's Tuesday," she told him with a hint of mischief in her eyes, but her voice sounding casual, taking a sip of what he assumed was iced tea. Long Island Iced Tea, of course.

A laugh fell from his lips as he looked down. "So it is." Logan had fathomed she was real fond of him, but he didn't think she had memorized his mowing schedule. Looking back up, he tried not to seem uncomfortable. The women around here liked to ogle and feast their eyes upon whatever they could. Calling them out on it would just cause a further hassle. "How's Marie?" He asked in a subject change. A preferred one.

Annette bit her lip, nodding. "She's great. She'll be turning twenty soon."

"That's great," he said, catching himself smiling. "She's doing pretty well in school, right?"

Annette grinned at the thought of her daughter. "Oh, yes. She's always been the smart one of the family." Logan somehow didn't doubt that. "Me and her brother are so proud of her."

He'd nearly forgot she had a brother. "He's in Sacramento, right?"

"Yes." Annette sat down her glass of tea, and Logan watched as water trailed down the side and began to puddle on the wood table beneath it. "He should be coming in today, so maybe you'll meet him?" Annette took another sip, and Logan nodded.

"That'd be real nice." And he meant it. He liked talking to Marie when he could, she was a nice girl, always good to her mother and sweet to everyone else. She had spoken of her brother with Logan before, once or twice slipping up and saying she'd like for the two of them to meet. Logan didn't think it was such an awful idea, despite his usual disinterest with mingling.

Logan recalled the first time he had the pleasure of meeting the young brunette girl. She had still been in high school then, came home every day at 5pm because of some after school activity. But that particular day was different. She came home in a blur, bike racing around the curb with fingers like damn vice grips. He hadn't known what on earth was making her fly like a bat out of a hell, but the expression on her face told him it'd be a mistake to ask.

He didn't know much about her then, just that she was his neighbors sweet daughter. Sweet and extremely young.

 _Eyes focused on her puffed up red face, he didn't notice when something crossed her path on the broken pavement. She ripped the handle bars to the side to dodge, resulting in her flying off the sidewalk and sliding along the concrete several feet into the road. His feet were in motion without hesitation, sprinting full force to her side, rake abandoned in the middle of his yard._

" _Hey kid, are you alright?" He gripped her shoulders, turning her gently towards him. She was bleeding, he knew that much. The rest of her injuries were hidden beneath her clothes._

 _The girls glossy brown hair hung over her face, blocking her expression from view. "Is it okay?"_

 _Hell, was she that worried about her bike? "Don't worry about that, we just need to get you cleaned up." He sighed, hand resting on her upper arm. "I'll fix any damage to your bike."_

 _She shot up then, standing wobbly on her two feet. Logan was up just as quick, steadying her. "Not my bike! The chipmunk! Is it okay?" The passion in her eyes shook him deep, leaving him speechless. Then hers fell to the ground, guilt flittering across her cheeks. "I almost ran over it. I could have killed it."_

 _And then for the first time in months, Logan had smiled._

" _Yeah, kid. I think he ran off into the grass." He couldn't help it then, his smile was wide and goofy as hell, but it just wouldn't stop. She nearly broke a bone from a bad crash, and she's worried about the chipmunk that did it to her. Logan could almost feel his teeth begin to hurt, she was so sweet._

 _Her hand fell on his, which was still located on her upper arm. "Thank you for coming to help me. I was just so upset, I wasn't even paying attention to the road in front of me."_

" _What's got you so upset?" After he asked, he wish he hadn't. Logan wasn't exactly the friendliest guy, so he knew that if it ever came to him finally making a friend in the place he'd been living for three years, it sure as hell wasn't going to be with a damn high schooler._

 _Still, a small part of his interest was piqued to know the answer. Curious to know what could get this innocent girl so angry, Logan disregarded the tension in his own hands._

" _It was just a guy at school," she shook her head ruefully, as if she just realized how silly she had been. "He… Uh, well he did something I didn't want him to do, and got angry with me when I told him not to." Her fingers were ringing together, not wanting to look Logan in the eyes. That was probably for the best because suddenly, he was feeling like busting a few heads together and was sure his face showed it. Not exactly because of Marie, but because he couldn't stand the thought of some teen boy out there forcing himself on a girl when a good ass kicking could fix him right up._

" _Your boyfriend?" his voice spoke out, not considering the way it could be misconstrued by a young girl._

 _She took a step towards him, eyes wide. "God, no! He's just some jerk at school who likes to treat me like a piece of meat."_

 _Logan realized what he was doing then, digging into a high school girls love life that was frankly none of his fucking business. The girl was probably extremely uncomfortable because of it, she was just too nice to tell him so herself. Paralleling her earlier movement, he took a step away from her, shutting out the irritation he was feeling at the kid she was talking about. "You should kick his ass." If Logan wasn't a grown adult, he'd already have kicked the boys ass half way to Canada._

 _She laughed then, scrunching up her nose and shifting her eyes away from him, a strange look he didn't bother analyzing crossing over her features before dissipating. "Yeah, maybe I should," she was smiling at him now, bright white teeth with a cute gap between the front two on full display. And then, like an anchor dropped on his head, the entire situation was unnerving. They were at least two feet apart, but Logan felt like there should be a football field between them. He should have just stayed on his lawn and let the kid pick herself up. Now that he'd actually met her, it was obvious that they'd get along, and that would only make life harder. And not just for him. "I'm Marie D'Ancanto, by the way."_

 _Despite his doubts about the whole damn situation, that drew a smile out of him. Marie. It was a pretty name. Suited her, she seemed kind. "Logan Howlett."_

" _Logan," she tested the words in her mouth. "That's nice."_

" _Listen, kid." Kid. How old was this girl anyway? Fifteen? Maybe sixteen? Definitely a kid.. "If that dick gives you trouble, don't feel bad about kicking him right in the-"_

" _I got it!" She shouted, hands up in the air. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, reminding Logan of just how innocent this child was. As if the backpack and handle bars with tassels (Jesus fucking Christ, she wasn't_ that _young) weren't making it clear enough. "That's… What I did today, actually," the guilty look was back on her face full force, but in it was a hefty mix of pride._

 _Well damn if she wasn't a little spit fire. Logan nodded approvingly, this time able to conceal the smirk. At least, mostly. He couldn't help but feel his own slice of satisfaction at her actions. He may not know her well, but it was quite the relief to know she could take care of herself. Plus, the thought of her lowering the boys chance at procreation wasn't exactly displeasing._

 _Instead, he settled for a quick pat on the shoulder, tearing his hand away before it could be socially unacceptable. "If he's smart, he'll stay away from you."_

" _If he has to be smart to make that decision, I wouldn't hold my breath."_

 _Yeah, Logan definitely was going to get attached._

Annette leaned back and howled in laughter, momentarily catching him off guard. What the hell had they been talking about? "He'd love you. Matt was always friends with men like you."

Oh, Marie's brother. Logan leaned on her railing now, splinters pricking at his skin through the fabric of his shirt. "What do you mean, "men like me"?" he questioned, tone a bit harsher than intended.

"Older," she said first, looking down at him. "Quiet, strong, someone who'd be reliable." Her eyes flickered to the upper right, as if she were remembering something. "You remind me of someone, Logan. Someone who I miss very much."

His curious smile fell then as he knew exactly who she was talking about. Marie had told him small details about her father. One of which was the reason why he wasn't here with her and her mother. "I'll see you later, Annette," he voiced quietly, pushing back from the railing to head towards his lawn mower.

"You should come to the party!" Annette shouted, jumping up and grinning brightly with pleasure at her idea as her hair flew around her in the wind.

He lifted his hands and shook his head. "Oh no. I wouldn't want to crash chi-Marie's occasion on her big day or anything. I'm sure there will just be friends and family, and I'll probably have to work-"

"Don't be silly! Marie loves you. You are practically family!" She insisted.

He struggled with the urge to stop her. Annette had no idea how Marie felt about him. She had never been around much for Marie, and Logan just couldn't see her being a likely candidate for Marie to tell her feelings and secrets too. He'd know, as she'd been using him as a personally diary for years.

Besides, it would probably embarrass the girl to have him hanging out with her mom while the rest of her young friends gather around and eat cake and ice cream. Not to mention how uncomfortable _he_ would be.

"I'll check my work schedule and get back to you," Logan promised. And it was true. He would check his work schedule and see if he could ask for a shift for that day, and if not, he'd go. After he was sure Marie was okay with it first.

Speaking of, she would be getting back from class soon.

 **A.N.: Like it? Hate it? Preferably not the latter? Let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2-Hurts So Good

**So, I've actually been writing this story for about two years now as an original piece. However, I kind of got back into Marie/Logan recently and I decided this story could work really well for them both. So, I'm going to shorten it from the original idea to be better suited for a fanfic (it'll still be pretty long). Let me know what you guys think!**

…

 _ **Marie**_

Marie mentally chastised herself for even considering confronting the guy who pushed her to the floor. She had to learn that the world wasn't how she wanted it to be. The hero doesn't always win, and things aren't black and white.

That being said, he was still an asshole.

She'd always been taught to give people the benefit of doubt with a dollup of forgiveness, but despite her best effort, Marie couldn't help but feel a tinge of anger. Knowing she was harboring a grudge put her in a worse mentality than the original assault. So, trying to wrap her head around anything that could make her feel better about herself, she managed to pull all of her belongings together in a huge jumbled mess, balancing everything just right so that her things wouldn't take yet another dive to the floor. Marie's hands slowly began to numb with each step she took, fingers wrapped awkwardly around pages and pencils to be able to get out of everyones way until she could put them all away. This was mainly her fault for not properly putting them away in the first place. When she walked through the threshold, her nerves were so screwed that she managed to drop her notebook without the slightest realization.

"I know Calc is annoying, but I don't think you'll be able to pass without notes."

"Huh?" Her head spun around so fast that her foot forgot it was supposed to be stepping down onto a stair. She watched in slow motion as papers flew passed her head, a sense of déjà vu slamming into her like a freight train while her hands flung out in front of her to catch her fall. However, it was not enough to keep her knees from scraping against the concrete.

She knew there would be blood, but that didn't mean she wanted to see it. She stared down at her battered hand, the blood starting to come to the surface of the new wound. Marie felt her stomach began to shrink, pushing her breakfast from that morning up her throat. Her eyes focused further, catching the sight of her torn up knees. It looked like digital effects in a movie where the blood spot gradually gets larger until soon it's hard to tell what color your pants were in the first place.

"Do you do this often?" She looked up at the girl before her. She must have seen the green in Marie's face because she stepped forward to get a better look. "Holy shit, are you okay?"

Marie decided to focus on the first question, instead. It was the million-dollar question. Why was she dropping everything? Had she suddenly become some clumsy mess of a girl that couldn't even hold her own books? Did she somehow know what was going to come only days later and it affected her in advance? That was something Marie would ponder for many years to come.

"To answer your question, no," she responded with a smile, hiding that she was snatching up a rather worn out book of hers that had rather embarrassing writings on the inner cover before this other girl could. "I try to be a teensy bit conservative with who I show my clumsiness too."

Marie took in the girl before her after that. She had hair the color of tree-bark and skin that was naturally tanned. Marie's eyes adjusted a bit more, and she noticed the girl smiling, making her eyes crinkle up at the corners. Her eyeliner was on a bit thick, but she didn't seem to mind it, so neither did Marie.

"I'm Anita." Something clicked in her mind; a rumor that Marie had learned to ignore and not take for facts swimming to the forefront with armor and canons, prepared to cease and desist any attempt at stopping it. But Marie smiled politely, not giving the battleship of gossip permission to pass into free-thought territory.

It clicked that her hand was sort of just limply dangling in front of Marie's face like a chicken on a wire, fingers slowly fading into limp eyes that somehow saw right through every little façade Marie had placed before herself before coming to class today. Like a gunshot, Marie's ears were ringing as she realized how mental that thought truly was. Looking up into Anita's eyes, it was clear she wasn't the only one. Her hand still swung slightly back and forth, waiting. Seeing as how she had stuck it out for her to shake upon introduction, and Marie had very disrespectfully ignored it.

"Marie," she responded in a forced bravado that sounded like a superhero trying to be modest. All that was missing was the spandex and cape. Or maybe leather? Marie had always preferred leather. Anita raised a darkened eyebrow, but let the mishap slide nonetheless as she laughed it off.

She reached down and grabbed the last text book that appeared even more beat up, then handed it back to Marie. "Where do you live? Do you need a ride?"

"Oh no, thank ya though. My mother would have a cow if she knew I was riding home with a stranger. Especially if I had to leave my bike on campus." Wait, would Anita think her mother was rude? "I mean, she just cares about me." _And her bike._ "I'm sure she'd like ya though!"

"You're really… Southern," Anita laughed. "And pretty strange, too."

She sat there for a moment trying to find something to explain why she was awkward. A way to blame it on the off-ness of the day in general, but soon realized that only her body was being effected by the day, not her words. That part was 100% Marie. "I know." She finally relinquished, exhaling enough air to make the trees sing.

Anita nodded, her eyes squinting a little as she let her shoulders fall. The gesture was almost hidden beneath her large brown leather jacket. "Right. Well, I'll let you get to your bike." She spun around as her hair fanned out behind her. Marie watched as she headed to the student parking lot. "Maybe I'll see you around some time," she called back.

"You too!" Marie responded almost instantly, then shoved her face into her hands. "That didn't make any sense, Marie," she began scolding herself, reaching for the handle bars of her bike. She heaved the mess of books into the basket on the front- the one that makes her feel like an eight year old- forgoing her backpack entirely as she wasn't up to the task of organizing the mess anymore. At least it didn't have the tassels (Marie's mom let her remove those last year when she finally put her foot down and told her it was either the tassels or a new car).

Her bike slid along the driveway as she came to a stop, blaring music her daddy raised her to, a bitter sweet feeling in her heart as she sang the lyrics.

Sensing a disturbance in the noises she was hearing through the headphones, she perked up to the world beyond the small one she had created for herself. Her eyes sought out the perpetrator, and soon fell upon a familiar face as honey met a field during harvest. Her neighbor, Logan, who was old enough for her mother to have a crush on, but not old enough to reciprocate, was outside seemingly just finishing up mowing his lawn. Marie watched him like a gaping fish for much longer than what could be considered casual gazing before realizing he was speaking to her.

"Hmm?" She asked, and when she see noticed his flinch, it became clear that her voice must not have come out as quietly as intended. She hurriedly ripped out the ear buds, ignoring the anticipating she was harboring to hear him.

"-train?" His deep voice called out.

"Can you repeat, possibly, everything you've said since I got here?" The question was quickly followed by an embarrassed tomato-glow on her face.

Logan lifted his hand, chuckling a bit as he brushed through his short facial hair. "I'll skip over the insults," he teased with a grin that flashed his bright teeth. "I was wondering why you didn't hand out fliers to the concert you were just putting on."

As if her face couldn't get any redder. Had she known she'd been singing obnoxiously loud? No. Was she going to let him know that? Of course not. "That'll be ten dollars, mister," she responded, hand held out and an expectant look accompanying.

His eyebrow lifted, and his eyes strayed over her with doubt. "What for?"

"I don't do free shows." Her hand was still held out as her foot lifted, gently swinging around to twist behind the other.

And then he laughed. Don't get her wrong, it wasn't the kind of laugh you could listen to all day. It was a deep, hard laugh. One that would take time getting used to, years even. And still, it'd send a jolt of surprise through you until the day you die. For your own health, you might not want to listen to it daily.

But, it was his natural laugh, and Marie hardly got to hear it, so she just smiled back at him and let her body memorize every second.

She had begun moving her bike towards her house, almost half way up the sidewalk when he called to her. Glancing over her shoulder, he said, "what happened to your leg, kid?" By the look on his face, Marie could see he was about as unhappy with her clumsiness as she was.

Casting her eyes down to the russet color of her jeans and then back to him, she shrugged. "I fell down some stairs, but I'm okay." Before she even finished her response, she could see the gears in his head turning as he planned something. Planning wasn't a common trait in that impulsive man. She followed his gaze to the ever so present blood stain on her leg, unsure of whether he was going to call a doctor or amputate it himself. Neither would surprise her.

Logan was a fairly unreadable man- unless the emotion was anger. Then he was _very_ readable. But otherwise, it was infuriating to Marie. Especially when her mother would send her to his home to ask with the most southern hospitality that she could accomplish if he would be so kind as to come over for dinner. Her mother was so caught up in her lust for the hot neighbor that she couldn't see Marie's growing anger with the simple task. It had nothing to do with him, although she wasn't sure how she'd feel with him being in the same room with her and her mother- now _that_ would truly inspire some discomfort. It'd had happened a handful of time before and always left her with something bitter lingering at the back of her throat. Something about the way her mother looked at Logan made Marie's stomach turn and knot.

But, it wasn't Logan's fault she got mad when she tried to invite him over. It pissed Marie off because she'd show up at his brown door with a broken doorbell just to the right of it- not because he couldn't fix it, but because he hated the noise. In fact, Marie was almost sure that he had been the one to break it in the first place. Then she'd raise her hand, pitched to knock. No more than six seconds after the first time her knuckles rapped against the door (she always counted), the hairy man would open it and peer out at her. She'd ask, "Would you like to come over?" and even though he has yet to say yes a single time, his eyes still show such...Dubiousness of the situation and what he is going to say. So, she'd give him a moment to think about it, every time being fooled once again into thinking he may actually grace their home with his presence.

Around town, there's gossip about a time Logan was in a poker game with the Mayor and a few officers of his old town. He allegedly won the game with flying colors when he told the mayor about how he was upset he was going to lose his trip to Las Vegas, and the mayor immediately believed Logan, not calling his bluff, only to be utterly defeated by his royal flush. She doesn't quite believe it, but if he told her himself, she'd have to accept it as the truth.

Finally, she saw some sort of decision being made in his stoic facial expressions which swept her former thoughts right out of her head. He turned away from her and took off like a deer who'd dodged a bullet between the eyes.

"Where are you going?" she asked with great distress. His only response was to hold up his index finger, rushing into his home. Was she supposed to wait there?

Despite being a teenager (although not for much longer) whose strongest nature was towards rebelling, Marie couldn't find it within herself to disobey his wishes. She instead found herself holding onto his fence, leaning heavily towards the side as warm liquid continued to rush down her throbbing leg. The wind was blowing, whipping her long dark tresses around like a maniac in a weird shampoo commercial, cooling the area of her foot where the blood had decided to begin to pool between flesh and shoe. If he took too long, she may just end up a human version of a deflated pool toy.

Small tan fingers were gripping the cool metal as she looked at his house, waiting for the man to emerge.

This time, she felt it before she heard it. Like a car that's bass was up too loud, the ground began to quake beneath her. The same deafening sound from earlier enwrapped her, then. He eyes barely caught the plane slicing through the sky before it was gone, leaving its sound traces echoing throughout the countryside. It gave an intimidating impression, something that you'd see in a military commercial trying to get recruits.

That was when she heard his heavy footsteps, a comical contrast to what she had heard not ten seconds before hand.

"Now will you tell me what you're thinking?" When her eyes found his, he was already closer than he had been before he left. She opened her mouth to ask what the hell he was doing, but he had knelt before her, touching the knee of her pants. The noise that ended up coming out resembled that of a screaming fox.

"I'm gonna have to cut these," he spoke in an abrasive voice, pulling a switchblade out from his back pocket. Marie yelped, seeing as how he had given her no time to oppose before he tore the jeans just above the mangled cut.

"I liked these pants," she grumbled, stumbling a bit until once again leaning back on the fence, holding on for dear life as he began to tear the bloody jeans from the tender flesh. She had known before it happened that it was going to hurt, however she had no idea how much. In fact, when he started, she screamed, stopping him to make sure he wasn't ripping off her skin instead of just the cloth.

"I'll buy you new ones," came his response, his usually stern voice filled with restrained laughter. And if she wasn't in some intense pain, she'd have slapped him in the back of his thick head for it.

She was on the verge of crying when something icy was thrusted into her stomach. Her hands grabbed out before she could get her eyes on it, but when she did, she almost threw it at his head. In her hand was a bottle of Four Roses Bourbon.

Instead of clonking him on the back of his skull with it, she just stared down at him with what was likely the most childish expression ever plastered on her face. She didn't know why he had given it to her, and her confusion was evident.

"It'll help with the pain," Logan told her, not even looking up. The man knew her too well. She winced as he got the final piece of fabric off, the bottle still in her hand.

"How about I just knock myself out with it instead?" She jested, but with enough seriousness to make Logan be more delicate with his hands. When Marie's eyes opened, they were a bit blurry from the tears.

"If you drink enough of it, you might do just that." Although the tears soon cleared, Logan was still stooped before her. However, this time he _was_ looking at her, watching while he continued his well-intended assault on her wound as she stared down at the bottle with a look of distaste that was marred by untouched trails of salt water. "You're acting like you've never drank before," he informs her in a condescending tone, not making her mood any better. His comforting skills were severely lacking.

"That's because I haven't," she spat back at him, mustering all of her rage into that short sentence in the hopes that she wouldn't scream out from the pain. He had used a less than soft rag to clean up the blood, and the flesh was horribly sore. It was as if she could feel each and every rough piece of the material scraping against her skin like fishing hooks in an extremely active lake.

Logan stopped what he had been doing, eyes finding hers once more. If she didn't hate him at that very moment, that would have been a perfect entry for her nonexistent diary. "Don't bullshit me. You're nineteen. And in college."

Once again, she had the urge to hit him over the head, but this time her instincts were out for blood. "Community college. And I'm not _bullshitting_ you." After mentally praising her own ability to keep calm, she opted for looking at the intricate design on the glass bottle, tracing over each strange formation with her fingertips, taking pleasure in the cool surface that had begun to sweat into her palm. "Don't get me wrong, sugar," she replied, unscrewing the cap and watching some of the condensation drip from the bottle and onto one of Logan's bent knees. "I would have. The opportunity just never presented itself." The tip of the bottle was almost to her mouth, she could feel the cold air wafting over her lips, when he yanked it back. "Hey!"

He stood up with a sigh, holding the bottle just out of her five foot four reach. She grabbed for it, but the bastard was about a foot taller than her and at least sixty pounds heavier. "I'm not gonna be the one to give you your first drink," he said, somehow being okay with tearing her leg open, but not giving her a swig of alcohol.

"Why does it matter? One way or another, the alcohol is still going down the hatch. Why does it matter if this is the first or the thirtieth time?" she yelled, slapping him lightly on the chest. Her body had moved into the action, but he had stepped away, making her go farther than estimated. Next thing she knew, her knees were bent awkwardly, red and bloody skin tearing even further. A lightning bolt of pure agony wracked her body. This time, she was unable to bite back the scream that tore through her like a wave crashing into rocks, legs buckling beneath her and falling forward, triggering a huge mess.

Glass shattered, blood dripped, and Logan transitioned from hard biker, steely cognac eyes, and taut neighbor to gentle teddy bear like a light switch, sputtering apologies as he held her up.

Her small hands were on his shoulders, his right arm slung around her waist, his left hooked under her shaky legs to keep them straight, and her entire body was sat over his lap. Over and over again in a matter of seconds, she had to fight off the insecurities that barraged her mind. She wasn't exactly small other than her height, had always fought with body issues. Not overweight by any means, but not skinny either. And here she was, being held so tightly to the guy who was more Grecian god than man.

Her face was burning beneath the surface with the heat of a thousand suns, serving to only make her more embarrassed, but she soon saw no reason to. His eyes were covering all appropriate surfaces of her body while checking for fresh wounds, not paying any attention to her inner turmoil.

It was then that she discovered his brown eyes had little flakes of gold.

"Are you alright? That was god damn stupid, Marie. All of that over some alcohol? I promise you, kid, it's not worth it." She didn't expect him to sound so irate, it sent a shiver down her spine and halted her need to argue. Logan never got upset with her. "Look, I'm going to finish patching you up so you can go on home to your mom," he said, accurately making her mother's face pop in her mind, removing any growing feeling she had formerly been entertaining for her rough-and-tough neighbor. She finally glanced down to see that Logan was looking away, brushing off some of the broken glass before sitting her down on the concrete. He took her right leg and looked at it intently before putting the gauze over it. "Shouldn't need stitches, but it's going to scar."

"What about you?" She asked, and he looked at her like she had just shoved a burning log in his face. "You cut yourself on some of that glass," she gently reminded him.

The look her gave her told her he had no idea what she was talking about, which was sweet. He had been so preoccupied with her that he hadn't even felt the pain of his own wound. He glanced down at his calf where, sure enough, some blood was starting to seep through his own jeans.

"Aren't we a pair?" She began laughing about the similarity of their situations.

He shrugged, picking up some of the rags he used earlier. "I'll live."

Marie nodded, no words leaving her mouth at his change of mood. He stood up, then held his hand out for her. There was no hesitation as she reached up, grasping it.

"Thank you. For... This," she shyly gestured down towards her leg, prepared to find him still not in the mood to talk. The man didn't dissappoint. His eyes were emotionless as he nodded, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. She saw the hint of a tattoo on the inside of his arm near his armpit, one she had never seen before. Something legible. Numbers perhaps?

"No problem, kid," he told her with a hint of a smile, his tone finally going back to the playful one he had earlier. "Go on inside." He gripped the bottom of his shirt, walking towards his garage as he pulled it off. "I got some business to tend to."

"You're a tease, Logan!" She told him after taking a minute to get over the sight. She could hear his deep chuckle echoing from his garage as she allowed it to follow her all the way into her home.

 **A.N.:** **Like it? Hate it? Preferably not the latter? Let me know!**


	3. Chapter 3 - Wild Night

**Chapter 3 – Wild Night**

The living room was a mess, which was a never a good sign. Annette had a tendency to tear things apart when she was distraught, her fingers like little paper shredders creating confetti, but instead of joy, there was just a lingering sense of dread. There wasn't a time in her life that Marie didn't remember her mother's razor fingers. In fact, she distinctly remembered the time that her father's parents were supposed to come over for Christmas when she was seven years old. Her grandmother and grandfather had been being awfully rude towards her mom, the exact words lost in Marie's innocent mind- although she did recall at least one of the words having been on her mother's no-no list- but the general idea of it was that they didn't like Annette. The anxiety that tore through her mom only served to make her look worse in her grandparents eyes, because when everyone came downstairs Christmas morning, the presents that had been so delicately packaged lay strewn about the floor around her, slivers of paper and cardboard doing nothing to conceal the presents young Marie had been anticipating.

Marie didn't know then what she knows now, however. How even the slightest bit of criticism from one of her children would send Annette into weeks of depression. She never really had an explanation for it, but ever since Marie's father died six years ago, it had gotten worse. She'd wake up in the middle of the night, and her mother would be sitting in the hallway, legs tucked beneath her and her hair in a rats nest, ripping up pieces of paper.

Removing herself from her memories, Marie found her mom a few minutes later in the next room, sitting in front of the window in the kitchen and gazing out of it like a school girl in love.

"What are you doing?" Marie asked, breaking the quiet.

Annette jumped back, placing her hand over her heart. "Jesus, Marie! Give me some warning next time." Her daughter ignored her, brushing passed to see what she was staring at. There, she saw Logan raking his back yard, skin glistening in the sunlight. The man clearly had no earthly idea that Annette was looking at him like a rib-eye steak. If he did, he would no doubt put a shirt on. He may have been God's gift to women, but Marie liked to think he wouldn't gift himself to the woman that gifted her to the world.

She turned to look at the older of the two with disapproval. "He's not a piece of eye candy, momma."

Annette sighed, brushing her blonde hair off of her shoulder as she tried to sneak another peak out of the window. "He knows what he's doing."

 _Excuse me_? Marie didn't think that was a good reason. "You should be ashamed of yourself, saying an excuse like that! Even if he's aware of himself and chooses to not cover it up, it doesn't mean you should be making googly eyes and cat calls at him through the window." Marie also felt something unnameable within the confines of her lower stomach, but didn't ponder on it.

"My little daughter, the ever so moral Marie D'Ancanto." Her hands went up in the universal 'giving up' way, and she spun around so that she could prove she was done looking through the window.

"Besides, shouldn't you be getting ready for Jax to get home?" Marie asked, watching as Annette reached behind her daughter, lowering the blinds.

A snort then left the woman as she rolled her eyes, wrinkles being stretched out momentarily on her aging face before sitting down in a chair beside the messy table. "His name is Matthew. That's the name I gave him when I gave birth to him." She took a tip of tea that left a shiny ring on the stained wood. "Your daddy is the one who decided to give him that middle name." Marie felt a pang of hurt pierce through her heart at the casual mention of her father, but she continued before much thought could be lost on it. "And he called an hour ago. Said his superior called him and he won't be able to come home until Sunday." Sucking in her breath, Marie's pulse began to chug in her chest as a painful knot started to twist. She hadn't seen her brother in nearly four years. "He also asked me to tell you that he's sorry, and that he can't wait to see how your hair has grown out," she said with a chuckle.

Marie groaned loudly, absentmindedly fingering her hair. The night when Jax cut it hit her full force, and soon, she was laughing too. It had looked like she had handed a child the scissors instead of a nineteen year old man. "That son of a-" she said under her breath.

A hand slapped her on the arm, and Annette was glaring at her daughter with disapproval. "Don't call your brother that," she chastised, and Marie leaned to press a quick kiss to her cheek, smiling innocently.

"Sorry, momma." Her feet turned and aimed back towards the living room when Annette questioned her destiMarieion. "Why don't I go and clean up the living room, and you get started on dinner?" Her mother agreed, allowing Marie to continue her path.

She was fluffing the last pillow to place on the couch when she heard the high pitched call of her mothers voice beckoning her in for dinner. Marie realized her mistake in allowing her mother to oversee the food. That was usually her job, and for good reason. She stared nervously down at the pasta that held an eerily black tint. Macaroni n' cheese and stuffed mushrooms that resembled more of smothered camp fire. _Damnit._

They sat down opposite of each other, each painfully mindful of the empty seats on either side, one of which should be filled now, and the other would never be filled again.

"How was school?" She asked, stuffing a bite of mushroom into her mouth. Marie stared her down while attempting to gauge the level of horror her tastebuds were going to receive from taking a bite, but she didn't crack in the slightest.

Sighing, she scraped her fork around on the old, blue, glass plate. "Clarence Thomas blew up my chem class." She supplied, pushing aside a hard macaroni.

"Oh? Well, we know what career he's aiming for." Annette said, reaching for her nearly empty glass of wine.

Marie nodded. "Suicide bomber." She finally took a bite, promptly wishing she hadn't. There was quite the generous amount of salt to cover the singe, but despite the contiguous extinction of any wetness in her mouth, she swallowed it. Annette didn't notice when her daughter gasped, snatching her water from the table. "His parents must be so proud."

Annette lifted her fork, pointing it towards her daughter as her blonde hair slung over her right shoulder. Unlike Marie, her brother also had blonde hair, but to Marie, their mother's had always seemed so much brighter. Jax's was practically brown now that she thought about it. Not quite to her level, but dirty blonde didn't seem to cover it anymore. "You know, his father used to be a waiter down at Buddy's."

She did know, but she didn't want her mother to have any reason to get angry with her. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. And his mother was a shop girl in the eighties." She added like a gossiping housewife.

She once again sighed, looking passed the radiant blonde hair and out of the window that she remember closing, but was once again open. "I guess it runs in the family." Marie said distractedly, wondering if Logan knows she was panting like a dog in heat while watching him.

"What?" She asked.

"Short lived careers."

Her mother stopped chewing for a moment, then it hit her. She began laughing, then she laughed so much that she had to grab a napkin to wipe her eyes. "You're awful!" She cried out, taking another big swig of wine, successfully emptying the glass.

Marie smiled back at her, chewing on the too salty food with pride. It _was_ a good joke, wasn't it?

 _But the fun could only last so long before Buzzkill Bob decides it's his time to shine._

"Listen, Marie." The pit of her stomach dropped. She could tell what words were going to leave her mother's mouth before they even protruded in a quick spat of badly memorized scripted lies. "I'm going out tonight. The girls want to go check out this new restaurant in Mobile." All lies. The only girls her mother knew were Brandy and Martini. "I'll be home later, so no need to wait up."

By that, she meant she wouldn't be home until tomorrow, and even then she'd probably be crawling through the door, tonight's dinner on her pants and shoes, wallet empty and eyes hollow with numbness.

This wasn't Marie's first rodeo, far from it really. This was a routine of hers, even more engrained than brushing her teeth. What first began as a few nights a month turned into an everyday situation. At least when she was younger, she'd wait until Marie was asleep before slipping off and leaving her unattended. At the time, she took it in stride. Her mother trusted her enough to leave her home alone at night. She was practically an adult! Each night, she'd stay up just a little bit later, slipping into bed at 10, then 11, and before she even knew it, she was falling asleep around 3 in the morning on the couch, infomercials pleading with her sleeping form to " _quickly call toll-free now for 2 jumbo tomato knives for the price of one!_ "

Marie didn't personally see anything wrong with her newfound curfew (or lack thereof), although her teachers would say otherwise. Still, even with her failing grades, she was more than happy with the freedom her mother had given her, so much so that she had failed to lock the door behind her in her ecstatic haze. So while she was passed out on the couch with the tomato knife people yelling at her that $19.99 for two knives was _more than_ affordable, a man who had lost his job three weeks prior with infants and a deceased wife had lost his way- not unlike her own mother- and had decided that he might find it if he broke into her house.

Even now, she couldn't find it within herself to blame him. He seemed like a nice enough man after, regardless of the bloody wound on her left leg from where he had slugged her with a crowbar in fear when she screeched as he was rambling passed her on sofa.

He had been arrested and charged with burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, assault on a minor, and breaking and entering despite Marie trying her hardest to get her mother to change her mind. It was her fault she had been left alone at the age of 13 after all, and the man apologized profusely and even broke down on the floor before her, calling 9-1-1 himself, waiting beside her for the ambulance and ultimately, to be taken in. Her mother wouldn't listen to her when she told her that he had kids, and that he was sorry. She was a mother bear and he had harmed her cub, all she heard and saw was red.

Yet, the very next day when Marie was released from the hospital, her mother simply called after she left once more to make sure she locked the door this time.

She'd went to a bar nearly every night since, and Marie's wound slowly healed into a jagged pink scar along her thigh.

Marie's eyes found her mother again after the memory faded, cold hand rubbing against the sensitive spot on her leg out of habit. There were a lot of things she could say. She could tell her mother no, that she wasn't going to sit around and wait for her to wreck on her way home from a bar. That she refused to open the door to yet another cop who was going to tell her about the death of one of her parents.

She had to say something, didn't she? Something profound enough to get her to listen and change her ways. Something that was going to make her realize her faults and break down, ask for forgiveness for all of the mental harm she's brought upon her daughter.

"Okay."

Well that wasn't what she'd wanted to say.

The satisfied look on her mother's face almost made her open her mouth and relinquish her anger, releasing several years of pent up frustrations and rage upon her, allowing them to wash over her like the passing tidal wave of a tsunami. Yet, she couldn't. She wanted to, God did she want to. However, flashes of her mother lying on the floor, surrounded by torn up photos and letters, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels beneath her curled fingers hushed the young girl before any noise could escape, leaving her mouth wide open like she expected her mother to toss one of her macaroni rocks into it to score 3 points.

Marie's mouth was still agape as she walked out the door, waving to her daughter as she closed it and ventured off to her impending doom. Maybe not a mortal doom, but at least it was dooming on her liver and morality.

Marie wondered if the bartender realized she had a daughter. Did they know she was leaving her child (albeit an adult one) at home while she drank her sorrows away? Whenever they handed her another glass, did they ever tell her it was time to go home? Ask her what she was doing there and why? Had her mother ever gone to Logan's bar? Maybe, but Marie trusted Logan enough to know that he wouldn't have let her mother continue to go there if she had. Logan was a good man, you know? At least, she was pretty sure. Maybe some other kid wasn't as lucky to be friends with him. Maybe some other kids parent was at his bar right now, blowing money that could be spent on their school clothes or food.

She was sure she wouldn't be able to aide someone's addiction, even if her job depended on it.

A strange urge took hold of Marie, flushing her body of any reason. She wasn't entirely sure what it stemmed from. Maybe some deep hidden spite, or even possibly the piece of her that just wanted to understand what the big deal was. Logan was so high and mighty when it came to alcohol, not even willing to let her have a taste. What was that all about? What was the reason? Why was it such a big deal?

Her mother had been nearly absent from her life for years, and all for what? A cheap buzz and a night you can't remember? Well, screw that. Marie wanted to experience it first hand. She wasn't willing to just sit back innocently, completely unaware of the world around her.

That's how she found herself in her bedroom, shimmying into a pair of dark tight jeans and a white halter top. She at least had enough thought to not wear heels- they wouldn't be necessary for where she was going. Still, she wasn't exactly experienced in the art of picking bar clothes, so she slipped on some leather boots, hoping they'd make her look just a little bit older.

She painted years onto her face, ignoring the feeling in her heart from it. This was the most adult thing she had ever done and it somehow was dragging away her youth, locking it upon the top shelf in her closet, soon to gain dust amongst her abandoned tassels. Grabbing that sadness by the throat, she threw it carelessly upon the shelf as well. This night was about understanding her mom and hopefully slipping into her mind for even just a moment. If she could manage to do that, then maybe she could manage to look at the woman without hating her.

Marie was almost out of the bedroom when her eyes caught a picture of Eric Masters that hung on her wall. It had been there since the fifth grade when he was the lead singer of the boy band "Love Punch". At this point, she left it there for nostalgia, still able to see the glint of lip gloss covering his chin from a particularly hormone filled time in her early teens. However, as she stopped just before the door and stared at the boy who she never knew, yet haunted her preteen fantasies, something in her cracked. Her dull nails tore through the worn out paper, shredding it to pieces, scraping the old paint behind it. His eyes fell on her right shoe and half of his lip landed somewhere between her bed and the wall, but she yanked those up and continued to tear until the once handsome boy resembled nothing more than a puzzle, never to be put together again.

In the aftermath, she realized that had been her first step into her mother's mind.

It _terrified_ her.

At 9:45, she was out the door with a leather jacket on her back, hair tied in a loose bun at the back of her neck, feet bringing her to her bike before she even processed that it was her only transportation. _Yeah, that'll make you look of-age._

She stood there for several moments before she had formulated her order of operations. It was the perfect plan, and she quite literally clapped herself on the back for thinking of it. Then she mounted her bike with determination, and took off.

The ride took about twenty minutes. It barely took two before she became imeasurably glad she had decided against doing her hair because the Alabama heat was already adding several inches of frizzy volume. A few loose tendrils slicked to her face with sweat, and as she wiped it away, some of her makeup was transferred to her sleeve in an off white mess. When she was a little ways down the street from the bar she had googled, she hopped off leaving the bike somewhere in the shadows, a tightly bound lock wrapped around a staple covered light pole, and then headed off into the direction of dulled neon lights..

Marie had never attempted 'sexy'. Wasn't sure she would know how to seduce someone even if she had been given a script and a producer. Still, she placed a slight sway in her hips that felt anything but natural, licking the salty-bitter liquid that was perched on the top of her reddened lips.

Her feet pattered across the pavement a little faster than could be considered completely calm and collected, but besides that and the newborn deer wobble in her ankles, she was the posterchild for lackadaisical. As if she did this all the time.

As if she didn't feel like she was losing a part of herself.

In her inexperienced mind, she had imagined bouncers standing outside waiting for people like her to try to walk in. But this was a dive bar, not a club. They'd ID her when she ordered a drink, which meant she'd be looked at more than one time. Her underage ID sat like an anchor in her pocket, demanding attention and guilt. There was no way they wouldn't ID her. She looked like a child in her mother's clothing, and she was beginning to feel like one too.

Glancing up at bright sign swarmed in insects that read _Lamarck's_ , her heart began to hammer in fear. This was never going to work, she should just turn around and get back on her childish bike, get back to her childhood home, and sit on the same couch she had been sitting on since she was a child to watch weird reality show re-runs. That's what she usually did on a Friday night, and tonight shouldn't be any different.

So why then did she push the heavy door open, ignoring every inch of her body that screamed and pleaded to leave, stepping into the noisy bar and letting out a relieved sigh to know that not everyone was going to spin around on her and accuse her of the crime she was about to oh-so-desperately try to commit? Her reasoning was lost in the mixed emotions bombarding her at the time, and clearly so was her usually thick line between right and wrong. If it had been there, she'd have seen the bright orange sign flashing "WRONG" in her head, and hightailed it out of there before the next glass hit the counter.

The room before her was larger than the outside led you to believe, tables set up in an almost restaurant style. The back wall was pretty much entirely the bar, mismatched stools placed unevenly apart against it. There were lights at the top, parallel to the counter top, but the rest of the room relied on flashing and colorful lights lining the walls. It smelled of something she couldn't quite put her finger on, and while it wasn't pleasant, it wasn't entirely unpleasant either.

She sucked up her fear into a tight ball, and placed it right in the pit of her stomach for it to fester and grow, where she would release it in tears later that night. But for now, it was just a tight feeling in her stomach that she could deal with. Her small fingers gripped the ends of her jacket sleeves, pushing herself to an empty stool near the back left corner of the bar. She saw the back of one of the bartenders, and another turned towards the patrons with a small laugh as he took another order.

By the time she sat down, most of her energy was gone, and with it, her restlessness. It was easier to put on a façade of nonchalance when your body was just too tired to give a damn, and that's how she found herself leaning against the bar, looking around the place carefully, chipped fingernail hands folded on the counter in front of her.

"Well, hello there," a voice called, and Marie could almost see the smile in it without even looking. "What can I get you to drink?"

When she looked up, she saw the bartender standing before her, a soft smile on his lips. He was a shorter man, bad posture and a long nose, but he seemed nice. Something in his curious eyes told her she wouldn't get away with ordering anything alcohol, so she didn't even try. Being there was good enough for now. "Do you have iced tea?"

The man's smile grew then, nodding to her with the patience befitting a teacher. "Yes ma'am, we sure do. Best in all of Alabama."

Marie chuckled then too, leaning forward on her hand. "That's quite the declaration. Careful there, you might just make me test it." After it came out, Marie had to hold back the grimace that came from within. Where the hell had that even come from?

"I'd be more offended if you didn't," he patted the counter top, then lifted a finger and pointed at her. "An iced tea for the pretty girl, coming right up."

She released a relieved sigh when he stepped away. That hadn't been so bad. In fact, she had felt almost comfortable. Sure, there were a lot of people, but they all seemed to be minding their own business and none of them were people she recognized. Then again, she didn't get out much.

Looking back to find the bartender making her tea, her calm body immediately froze up, soft sultry eyes transforming into those of a child once more. In the spot she had just seen the unnamed bartender, she saw none other than Logan, one hand holding a glass and the other holding the rag cleaning it. However, his hands were no longer moving. In fact, none of him was moving. It was as if someone had stopped time for only Logan, like some cruel twist of fate. Of course, that only lasted until he forcefully shoved the glass back on the shelf behind him, pushing his colleague out of the way in his attempt to get somewhere. But where was he- Oh. Marie hadn't realized the entire time she had been looking at him, he had been looking at her too.


End file.
